


Closet Case

by Aaron_The_8th_Demon



Series: A Combination Of Skill And Luck [16]
Category: Twin Peaks
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Autistic Cooper, Bisexual Male Character, Explicit Sexual Content, Gay Male Character, Harry Has Emotional Problems TM, Internalized Homophobia, Light Angst, Lodge Dodge (Twin Peaks), M/M, this like. just barely counts as crack so I don't want to tag it that way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-06
Updated: 2020-11-06
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:07:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27410182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aaron_The_8th_Demon/pseuds/Aaron_The_8th_Demon
Summary: Cooper gets something entirely unexpected while working an unusual undercover assignment.
Relationships: Dale Cooper/Harry Truman
Series: A Combination Of Skill And Luck [16]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1617793
Comments: 8
Kudos: 22





	Closet Case

**Author's Note:**

> I actually enjoyed writing this one, but that doesn't stop me from thinking it's dumb lol :D

“Alright, don’t move your eyes,” Denise orders before she gets to work on him.

Coop obediently holds still for her, except for the fact that he still talks. Sometimes she wonders if that’s how he breathes because he’s never _not_ talking. “Thank you for your assistance.”

“You’re welcome. I’ve had a lot of practice by now, there’s no way the pimp in there won’t hire you when I’m done.”

“Well, yes, for that too. But I was actually referring to your help in general. I’m immeasurably glad that it’s not a different DEA agent coassigned to this case with me.”

Denise smiles at him. “What, you think I could let anyone else take this one? Hold still, Coop. You need to look pretty and I don’t want to poke you in the eye by accident…”

She gets his best grin in response, the magical one that always makes straight women and not-so-straight men fall in love with him on the spot. Naturally she’s immune even if she didn’t already see him almost like a rambunctious younger brother.

“I have it on good authority that I’m already gorgeous.”

“You realize Albert was being sarcastic when he said that, right? I’ve never heard of him going on dates with _anyone._ ”

“Yes, I was talking about that to Harry once and to quote him ‘can you really _imagine_ anyone being mentally ill enough to be attracted to Albert Rosenfield?’”

Denise chuckles and moves on to his other eye. Of course the topic has come back to Harry Truman. Harry is all Coop wants to talk about these days.

“I think your crush is getting out of hand, Coop.”

“What crush?” Coop says innocently.

Now, she out-and-out laughs at him. “Don’t play dumb, Dale. We both know you’re head over heels for that man.”

He blushes slightly, mostly in his ears. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Coop. I’ve known you too long for that game to work and when you’re not already undercover you’re an awful liar.”

Coop’s quiet for about five seconds, which for him is probably a record. “I can’t help it, he’s very kind and he’s smarter than almost everyone gives him credit for and I personally find him quite handsome.”

“He’s also gullible,” Denise teases. “Alright, close both eyes for a second… perfect.” There’s just enough eyeliner to make someone wonder if he’s wearing it, not enough to definitively tell one way or the other. As if he needs any help to look good, but that’s not the point. “Y’know, maybe it’ll work too well. If their clients who show up on the down-low are all pouring into your room to get busy you might not have time to go snooping around,” she muses.

“Oh, I’ll be fine. All I’ll have to do is insist on using condoms and half of them will lose interest on the spot,” Coop points out. “And of course those sections of the tapes will be omitted.”

“Yeah, obviously. I don’t think most people would be interested in listening to that anyway. Do you want me to paint your nails, too?”

“Do you think it’ll be necessary?” he asks, very seriously. “It may affect my chances of being ‘hired’ if I come across as too flamboyant, given that the majority of their clients are closeted they’ll have an overabundance of prostitutes who bottom. My goal is the impression that I can do both equally.”

She has to ask. “When you’re actually seeing someone though, do you…?”

“It depends,” he admits, completely shameless. “I’ve done both. In general I prefer it because it’s an entirely different experience, and going on top seems like a waste of time in a way because if I want that I could pursue a woman instead.”

Denise tapes the wire to his arm and then fixes the sleeve of his shirt to hide it. “Do you like women or men better, though?”

Finally, she’s gotten him to look shy about this. “Men.” It’s said in a quiet and very un-Coop-like voice. “It’s approximately 60-40. There’s something to be said for the comfort of the familiar, so to speak.” Coop pauses for a second. “If you don’t mind my asking, why are you still attracted to women?”

“The same reason you’re attracted to other men. The two things just don’t have anything to do with each other… believe me, I was surprised about that, too. For awhile, early on in my transition, I kept wondering why it didn’t happen. By now I don’t even think about it. Women are beautiful and they’re who I want to be in bed with, that’s all there is to it.” Denise doesn’t try to paint his fingernails, but she does start filing them for him. “For what it’s worth, I think you should go for it with Harry. I think you’d be a really cute couple.”

“Allow me a moment of childish insecurity,” Coop whines, “but what if he’s not interested in me?”

“Okay, Dale, I’ve met him. I’ve talked to him. I’ve seen you two talking to each other. And if he doesn’t have a problem with me, which I know he doesn’t, then there’s no way in hell that he’ll have a problem with you if you come out to him. The worst he’d do is say no.”

“But I’d still have to face the scenario of him saying ‘no,’ which in all honesty isn’t a risk I’m willing to take at the moment. It could cause tension in our friendship and that would be a severely undesirable outcome.”

She does her damnedest not to start laughing at him, because it would be mean, but even so it’s ridiculous that this well-trained and sometimes overconfident man is being so fragile.

“Y’know, it’d make a great pulp romance novel,” Denise teases. “A federal agent from a big city and a small town sheriff. Maybe even complete with at least one badly written chapter of smut.”

“Has that concept been done?” Coop wonders, completely missing the joke like always.

“Not that I know of. Maybe someday when I retire I’ll write it just for you.”

* * *

Dale signs the paperwork with the alias they made up for this case, confident that Denise was able to pick up on the entire conversation over the wire. He’d noted this only on his second intrusion into this establishment, that there are men employed here as sex workers in a clandestine area of the building. And seeing how drugs are still being funneled into Twin Peaks through One Eyed Jack’s (albeit under different owners), it made sense for an undercover operation to take place, this time with permission from the Canadian government. Given that a significant amount of time has passed, Dale’s not likely to be recognized, and he’s also possibly the only agent in the entire region who could pass as a male prostitute - a fact he’s not sure he can be proud of.

In any event, his “job interview” went predictably well. The man in charge of this part of the establishment is a Polish-Canadian who seems generally fair, all things considered. Tadeusz Wierzbowski all but fell over himself to put Dale on the payroll, being that he’s reasonably handsome and in good shape and under forty years old and especially because he’s versatile.

The attire of the male escorts is considerably more varied than that of the females. From what Dale saw during his two missions here in the late winter of the previous year, all the working girls were dressed essentially the same, in playing card-themed lingerie which enabled neither subtlety nor imagination. It’s different in this section. Some men are cross-dressed, either in complete outfits or in similar attire to the women who roam the casino. Some are in leather or latex. Many, himself included, are instructed to simply dress nicely, like for a business meeting. The irony isn’t lost on Dale that he’ll essentially be in his FBI uniform for this job, sans suit jacket and with a much flashier necktie.

Intuitively, he can see in the faces of his temporary coworkers all of their thoughts. It seems evenly split between two sentiments: _he won’t last more than a week_ or _he’s going to steal all my customers, just look at him._ Dale wonders if he should be flattered by the second one.

Mr. Wierzbowski assigns him to a room and very specifically points him to a drawer, which is filled with every size and variety of condom in existence. “We have good reputation here. You get sick, and you get _fired._ The clients, they do not like to be sick from us, it hurts the business. Understand?”

“Of course,” Dale nods, relieved. He’s absolutely planning on protecting himself. “And what about means to satisfy any kinks the customer may have?”

“Oh, the regulars, kinky ones all hire Jimmy, he does that stuff. You not going to see that so much. Need anything and you ask him, he borrows to you what you need and then you give back to him. If the thing gets too much, then you send the whole client to him,” Mr. Wierzbowski chuckles. “And you new here. So probably, you not going to see that right away at all, they don’t know you yet. Our clients mostly the regular type, not lot of new faces very often.”

“Yes, I see. When can I expect business to pick up for me, then?”

“Ah. Depends who show up. And sometimes in the club, they want the men escorts there. New guys get sent pretty often for that, because the client bring friends who not regular, and don’t have the preferences really. So if that happens, then I send you for entertain those clients.”

And shortly following, Dale settles in to wait. He bugs the room and then removes his wire, hiding it under the mattress instead of with his miniscule personal belongings because he suspects at some point someone will go rifling through his things and it would blow his cover.

He doesn’t have to wait for an especially long time; approximately ninety minutes after his arrival, a client is sent to him, and fortunately it’s not any spectacularly difficult task. Just an ordinary blow job, with the stipulations that he not make eye contact with the customer or touch him more than is absolutely necessary. The man is nervous, deeply closeted apparently, and Dale can read it brightly in his demeanor that he’s making an excuse to himself - _it’s not real sex, it doesn’t count, he’s just sucking me off the same as a woman would._ In a way, it’s tragic.

And Dale feels fortunate that the manager sees fit to institute a strict policy on protected sex, because he’s never found the taste of semen pleasant and this way he can avoid it. It’s mildly irritating that flavored condoms never taste the way they’re supposed to but that’s a minor grievance and he can certainly live with it.

The client lasts all of forty five seconds. Dale realizes that he’s overwhelmed by it, by making sexual contact with another man even through a latex barrier, by finding even this minimalist encounter many times more satisfying than anything he’s ever experienced with a woman. Dale takes a moment to feel depressed on his behalf that he’s been in such denial for so long. And then the client pays and leaves, red-faced and watching the floor without a word.

Dale’s first night of work is relatively uneventful; including the initial one, he sees only four customers. Some of his time goes to small talk with the other prostitutes between clients, and he determines none of them to be involved with the drug trafficking. Eventually, approaching three in the morning, Dale’s able to bug two more rooms - the club and Mr. Wierzbowski’s office. After that he sleeps in an unfamiliar bed and dreams that he almost drowns in the ocean, and in the morning is at least allowed a passable breakfast before his workday starts.

This assignment is already turning out to be something of an informative experience. Dale’s astounded by the number of frightened men that come here, unwilling to risk outing themselves by finding dates with other men and instead coming to One Eyed Jack’s under the pretense of gambling so that they might glut themselves on sex and liquor. The majority of them have wedding bands or, at least, the associated tan-lines on their fingers. However, Dale’s a professional, and he refuses to be distracted from either of his tasks by this. He’ll take time to be sad about societal homophobia at a later time when the case is concluded.

His first “off-color” customer comes shortly after lunch. A depressed-looking man lies on the bed and has Dale just hold him for awhile, their clothes remain on and there’s no sexual contact of any kind. He still pays the same as if he’d had Dale fuck him, though. It’s bizarre and no explanation is offered.

Following that are two much more ordinary customers, one blow job and one who has Dale top him. It seems fortunate that he hasn’t had to bottom for any of them yet, because he’s sure when that time comes the client won’t be particularly considerate of him or his comfort - he’s an object to them, a fixture of the room there to provide a basic sensory gratification.

Dale keeps his ear to the ground during coffee breaks. So far as he’s been able to determine, few if any of the men working here are complicit with the drug trafficking, which he more or less expected seeing how they’re low on the totem pole. His prime suspect at the moment is Mr. Wierzbowski’s boss, a cranky and fat little man named Liam Giroux. Mr. Giroux passes through exactly once, barely sparing any of his employees a glance on the way by. He’s only interested in the profit he’s making off them, after all. And Dale’s willing to bet that this 5’5” French Canadian is the man he, Denise, and the RCMP are after.

At 7:00 pm Dale and two others are given a heads-up: be in the club in fifteen minutes, a rich client will be arriving with some friends. Seeing how Dale’s managed to bug that room already, he can safely leave his wire in its hiding place and the risk of being exposed is that much lower. Interestingly, there are two female prostitutes present with the male ones as well - it makes sense when the clients arrive because one of them is a butch lesbian and one is very obviously a straight man. The other three clients, presumably, are gay or at the very least bisexual.

Dale is immediately chosen by the one who’s clearly in charge. He reminds himself that this is his job, and the Bureau pays him very well. Only Denise will be in direct contact with the proof of his involvement here, and then Gordon once the case is long concluded. He refuses to be discomforted by a hand squeezing his leg slightly too firmly, by the fact that he’s being ordered around by this customer. This is his job. It means nothing.

Within twenty minutes, the clients and their chosen escorts vacate the club to inhabit the working rooms. Things take something of a left turn for Dale, but it’s in his favor. This man demands to be spanked, to have his hair pulled, to be cuffed to the headboard and - as he puts it - railed. Dale politely reminds him that kinky games have a small additional fee, which the customer is perfectly agreeable about, and the acts commence.

“You’re so impersonal,” the client remarks casually after the fact while smoking and going through his wallet for the cash.

“I’m a prostitute,” Dale says, unsure how else to reply.

“Yeah, but usually you guys at least _pretend_ like you care.”

“I apologize, I’ll remember that for next time.” The money is handed over. “Thank you.”

“At least you’re polite,” the man shrugs, speaking around his cigarette.

“I try to be professional.”

“Y’know, you’re prob’ly taking this way too seriously. Learn to take some joy in your work, eh?”

“Alright, I’ll keep it in mind.”

“Good. Because I’ll be back for you again if you’re still working here next month, you’re good enough to be worth the money.” And he gets dressed and leaves.

Dale doesn’t know how to feel about that.

* * *

Harry hands his passport through the window of his truck, giving the same explanation he always gives the border guards: heading up to the casino to blow a week’s pay on roulette. These guys must think he has a gambling addiction or something, and the behavior stacks up for that, too - there’s stretches where he’ll be up three times in four weeks, but then missing for four months only to turn up again with the exact same story.

The truth is a lot sadder than that. Harry goes there for even uglier reasons, and if the town found out those reasons they’d never respect him again and he’d be out of a job in a hurry. Those months when he stays home, when he doesn’t go here, are the times when he takes a good long look at his life and tries to convince himself that he can be sober and he can be straight if he would just fucking try harder… but then he still ends up back here, paying men to have sex with him and then getting really, really drunk to smother the guilt. Afterwards he heads home and drives to work on Monday and refuses to think about how his weekend went. All anyone in Twin Peaks knows is that he’s out of town and away from a phone.

They give back his passport. Harry puts his truck in gear ( _his_ truck, his Toyota, not the one he drives for work with the station crest on it) and moves ahead to go waste a bunch of money on two bad habits he just can’t kick. This is the longest he’s lasted, actually, almost a year and a half. Because he tried so hard when he was with Josie. Even though they kinda had problems in bed sometimes, he put in his best effort. And after that he’s been spending lots of time with Dale, who he made friends with the second they met.

But Dale had a work conference or a training seminar or something, and right after that was sent on a case. Harry hasn’t seen him in over three weeks. He knows that’s not healthy, but this isn’t healthy either. He gets to choose between wishing for a friend he can’t have or spending his paychecks on vices across the border. And Harry also has to wonder what Dale would say if he knew.

It’s funny to think about. He had to let Dale walk him through the layout of this place on a hand-drawn map before they rescued Audrey, asking questions and pretending not to already know exactly where everything is in this building. Because if Dale knew that he knew, Dale would’ve wanted to know _how_ he knew. And Harry can’t tell a lie to save his life.

Harry sighs and gets out of his truck. He resigns himself like always to the fact that he’s so pathetic that he has to pay money to get laid. It’s not what he wants, of course. Not what he really wants anyway. He wants to be loved, to have a relationship, to wake up with someone on the other side of his bed and eat breakfast with. But he has a hard time falling in love to begin with, and whenever he does it’s always with the wrong person. He’s in his mid-forties and by now it really just looks like it’s never gonna happen for him.

Harry goes to Tadek Wierzbowski first and gets a string of disappointed tongue-clicks.

“Harry, where did you go? We starting to think you really meant it this time. You trying too hard at be a straight man again?”

“It’d be easier,” he complains, shrugging helplessly. “And cheaper.”

“Well, yes, cheaper probably. Not probably easier, though. But we like see you here, you one of the good clients, not hit the boys or trashing the rooms. Now, what can I do for you tonight? You want the man or the whiskey?”

“Either. I’m tryna get my mind off’a somebody.”

“Yes, I understand. Describe him little bit.”

“Dark hair, about my height.”

“Ah, you in luck, we have the new hire that’s perfect,” Tadek grins, slapping a palm down on his shoulder. “And I heard good things of him from other clients, he is good for his job. Worth the money for sure.” Harry’s led to a room, but it’s empty. “Hmm…” Tadek hums. “Out for coffee break. Sit, he back any minute. I can find him for you.”

“Okay.” So Harry drops into a chair and waits, rubbing his face with his hands and wishing he could just be interested in women instead. It’d be so much easier than this. But at least the shame of meaningless sex with a male hooker tonight and drinking himself stupid tomorrow will distract him from thinking about Dale.

“You know it by now, the client should be cheered up,” comes Tadek’s voice distantly down the hall. “This guy… not quite a regular, but a good client. Never fights about the prices.”

Footsteps. The door clicks shut. And then, very quietly: “Harry?”

He looks. And he’s pretty sure his eyes are gonna pop right out of his head.

“ _Coop?_ What the hell’re you doing here?”

Dale raises his eyebrows. “I might ask you the same thing.”

“Oh. Uh… oh.” His throat closes.

“I’m working undercover with the DEA,” Dale whispers. “We’re gathering information about the drugs still passing through Twin Peaks.”

“As a hooker?”

“They’re less likely to suspect this way than if I was posing as a buyer.” Dale studies Harry and his eyes get sad. “Most of the customers here are like you, incidentally.”

“Alcoholic closet-cases?” Harry snorts miserably.

“Yes.”

“That’s nice to know, Coop. Thanks.”

Dale hesitantly comes over and pulls him to his feet, then hugs him. Harry isn’t sure how to react, so he hugs back.

“I wish you’d told me,” his friend murmurs, “even though I understand why you didn’t. You shouldn’t have to be so ashamed of yourself when you’ve done nothing wrong.”

Harry sinks a little deeper into Dale’s arms and closes his eyes. “So how much does a hug go for? It’ll look real suspicious if I don’t pay you.”

“I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. Now, instead of attempting to fill a void with what’s tantamount to sensory junk food, I think you should go home and find a boyfriend. You’ll be much happier.”

“The guy I want’s not available. I came here to buy a hooker, Coop. And if I get you in trouble with Tadek it might blow your cover. So how about I just sit here for a few minutes, and I’ll pay you the going rate, and then I’ll go get plastered like I was gonna do anyway.”

Dale starts stroking the curls in back of his head. “Harry… it… wouldn’t mean anything… I’m working…”

He’s never heard his friend stutter before. It’s weird.

“I can’t do that, Coop.”

“Even if I said.” He feels Dale swallow. “That I wanted you to?”

That shocks him. “What?”

“It’s not a difficult concept.”

“Coop, you…” Harry tries to think what he wants to express, here. “You don’t gotta do this just to try and make me feel better, okay?”

“I’m not.” Dale rubs his back a little bit. “Am I this guy of yours, Harry? The one you think isn’t available?”

“…yeah,” he admits, because there’s no way Dale wouldn’t immediately know if he tries to bullshit his way out of that question. “I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t be. I’m available for you, Harry. And even when I come home I’ll be available for you if you like. Although come to think of it you’ve seen me here for this case, and perhaps that idea makes you uncomfortable.”

“Not really, I know you gotta do weird shit for your job sometimes.”

“Harry.”

“Yeah?”

“It’s alright for you to want this. It’s alright for you to want this _from me._ Denise has poked fun at me for having a crush on you while we were preparing for this case.”

That stops him in his tracks. “This room’s bugged, isn’t it?”

“I promise you she’s stopped listening. She won’t tell anyone, either. It’s alright, Harry…”

They untangle just enough to turn their heads and then Dale kisses him, very softly. And right away Harry just gives up. Because he wants this, _god_ does he want this. His hands drop down into Dale’s lower back without his say-so, and there’s fingers burying into his hair, and Dale’s mouth opens for him about three seconds in. And this kiss is _fantastic._ Harry doesn’t remember the last time he got kissed like this, especially by someone who actually means it.

They have to stop for air eventually. Dale’s breaths huff gently against his face.

“Of course the longer I keep you here it’s that much fewer of the actual clients I’ll have to put up with…”

Harry swallows a laugh. “Yeah, I guess so, huh?”

“Harry, I’m going to break a rule.”

“Oh yeah? What rule, Coop?”

“We’re supposed to apply condoms even for the purposes of oral sex.”

“You always break that rule?”

“No. Just for you. Don’t tell my boss.”

Now he can’t help laughing. “Okay, I won’t.”

Dale first of all makes him take his jacket off and then sits him on the edge of the mattress, untucking his shirt and opening his belt for him while he settles. Button, zipper, pull down the front of his underwear, and then Dale just swallows his whole cock with no effort. Harry’s seen actual prostitutes do this plenty of times but he still feels like it just shouldn’t work that way, he doesn’t get how they don’t choke on him when he’s pretty close to the upper limit of what “average” size supposedly is.

It’s a lot different, though. Dale’s not trying to get him off as fast as possible and boot him out the door so the next guy can come through - he’s actually working to drag it out, to make Harry feel good. Harry’s not sure how long this can last for anyway, though, it’s too much at once, the feeling but also looking down and seeing this gorgeous man that he’s had a thing for since March last year kneeling there and sucking him off. And Dale’s hands are on the tops of his thighs, rubbing up and down or occasionally squeezing through the fabric of his jeans. Harry scrunches up the bedding in his fists on either side.

It’s too much. It takes about a minute. Which is… embarrassing. Or at least it feels embarrassing once his brain turns back on again. He notices Dale grimacing a little bit.

“You okay, Coop?” he asks, voice a little rougher than usual.

“Forgive me for saying so, it’s not a flavor I enjoy… I’m fine, however. It’s a momentary irritant.”

“I never met anybody who actually likes how that tastes,” Harry tries to reassure him.

Dale nods, tucking him back into his boxer-briefs for the time being but not otherwise fixing his clothes. “Why don’t you lie down for a moment, Harry.”

So he does, shuffling himself fully onto the bed and picking a side of the mattress to sprawl on while Dale unties and takes off his boots for him. It seems kinda surreal in a way, he’s going to just lay here like this for twenty minutes and recover so that he can fuck one of his friends… Dale’s going through a couple of drawers, coming up with condoms this time and also a strip of lube packets to go with them. Those get piled on the side-table, Dale’s shoes come off, and then he gets on the bed and snuggles right up.

“So uh… with the clients, do you let them…?”

“None of them have asked me to bottom for them,” Dale says. “In a relationship, that would be a terrible shame, because when it’s with someone I care about that’s what I prefer. But in this type of situation I’m relieved that it hasn’t come up yet because this way I’m in complete control of everything, which is desirable for my safety and comfort.”

“Yeah, that makes sense.”

Dale’s fingers pick at the buttons on his plaid shirt, not actually undoing them yet. “It’s not especially enjoyable for me in any case. As you guessed earlier, most of them are closeted and in some level of distress or outright despair, which is very depressing and difficult to work with at times. And I don’t get any sense of satisfaction out of it because there’s no emotional connection to speak of.”

“All that sex and you’re not even allowed to get off, huh?”

“It’s not prohibited, but it would be pointless. And then you’re less able to serve the next customer. So in that sense it’s also very frustrating,” Dale admits, still playing with his shirt. “In five and a half days it’s only happened twice that I orgasmed with a client, both times were not only completely by accident but they were also deeply unfulfilling.”

“So if I make you come, are you gonna lose your job and mess up the investigation?”

“No, it should be fine. By all means, Harry, you have my permission and encouragement to do that.” He almost sounds like he’s begging.

“Okay, then I will.”

Harry slowly rolls sideways and gathers Dale closer with his arms for more kisses, slower and less desperate than the first one was. It’s too soon, he’s still wrung out and relaxed, but they can kiss anyway. When he was seventeen he timed it once, just because he wanted to know for some reason he can’t remember anymore - he could get hard again in about ten minutes. That was a really long time ago and he almost can’t believe it was ever true.

And there’s no lying about it or hurrying it along, so he’s not trying to start anything yet because he doesn’t want to torture Dale when Dale has apparently been suffering this whole time anyway, endlessly fucking these clients but not able to come. And Dale is somehow still being impossibly patient about everything despite that. Harry will probably never understand this man, but he also doesn’t really need to. He can appreciate Dale without figuring him out.

So he just kisses Dale. Neither of them sheds any clothes, these kisses don’t go that deep, they mumble sweet pointless things to each other. Harry pours his best affection over Dale to try and make up for whatever other shitty things he’s probably had to put up with on this assignment. And eventually his cock is starting to wake up, to slowly get interested. Harry rolls them both so that he’s pressing Dale into the mattress without breaking the kiss and in reply to this one of Dale’s hands sneaks into his underwear to grab onto him. He breathes in way too quickly through his nose at the feel of that, still a little bit oversensitive. He’s _almost_ starting to get hard again and maybe he shouldn’t have let Dale suck him off first because this is kinda annoying.

Harry peels himself away to sit up on his knees, unbuttoning his plaid overshirt and tossing it somewhere before going for Dale’s tie. It’s not one of the usual ones, the colors are too bright and Harry’s never seen it before. That gets chucked the same as his shirt, he doesn’t care where anything lands as long as it’s not in the way. Opening Dale’s dress shirt now, there’s nothing underneath, just skin. Harry drags his palms down Dale’s chest and stomach for mostly his own gratification; his cock is inflating, still with a hand wrapped around it, not at a hundred percent yet but getting there.

“Harry,” Dale says as his belt is getting yanked open and out of his pants.

“Yeah?”

“You intend to fuck me, right?”

Not something he _ever_ thought he’d hear this man say. “Only if you want me to.”

“Yes.”

“Okay, then.”

They both get impatient about it now, hurrying to take their clothes off. What pretty much instantly gets Harry the rest of the way to throbbing and leaking is watching Dale fingering lube into himself. Maybe being stifled by a condom won’t be such a bad thing for once, because Harry’s overly invested in this already and without one he’s not sure he could keep himself from coming way too fast. He wants to make sure he gets Dale off, after all, because if he doesn’t it would just be cruel at this point. Usually, though, he hates these damn things and only being terrified of catching AIDS makes him wear them in the first place.

Okay. Okay. Slowly, just in case it’s been awhile for Dale, Harry doesn’t want to injure him or anything. God, the last time he got to do this was at least two years ago, way before he was seeing Josie. Actually, that was here, with a guy he hired. But now he gets to have this with Dale, and it feels a hundred times better. They both moan but for different reasons… Harry is digging up all his self control so that he won’t ruin the pacing of things, and Dale’s clearly in the “it hurts so good” phase and struggling at least a little bit to adjust.

Harry plants his hands on Dale’s back, trying to steady them both in a way. He holds still for a few seconds. Dale relaxes, breathes more normally, so Harry starts to move again. Despite the condom, he’s in heaven right now. He’s wanted this for way longer than he’d probably ever admit out loud, to be able to fill Dale up with his cock, and maybe if he could think better right now he’d start worrying that this is just a very elaborate and weirdly realistic sex dream. But it’s not. He actually gets to have Dale, and that’s almost enough to blow his god damn mind.

Dale isn’t passive, either. He’s very precise about telling Harry exactly how and at what speed to move, directing the best ways to pleasure him even though he cuts himself off sometimes with overwhelmed noises or sharp breaths. And Harry loves that, because this way he knows he’s doing it right.

Harry’s muscles are starting to tense up and fight him, so he rests his weight on Dale’s back with his arms wrapped around but not squeezing. With so much more surface area of them touching each other, he frantically realizes that he’s already almost at his breaking point and he really needs to get Dale to come, but also that maybe he doesn’t need to change anything he’s doing because Dale’s starting to stiffen and get locked up too. Yeah. This can work just the way things are.

Dale yelps and bucks against him a little bit, then starts to spasm over and over. He’s clenching up on Harry’s cock during this and so Harry goes right after him, squeezing his chest without meaning to until both of them are gasping and trembling. Harry rests his face in the back of Dale’s neck for a little bit because he feels like he just got run over by a logging truck in the best way and can’t move at all yet. Dale, somehow, still manages to take his weight even with the tremors still wracking both of them.

Eventually Harry’s present enough to shuck the condom and try to clean both of them up - Dale seems like he came twice as much as most people, which is just crazy, but apparently not being able to get off for almost a week will do that to a guy. When that’s taken care of Harry lies down and pulls Dale after him, not caring that they’re both still sweating.

“You charge extra for cuddling?” he asks, even though he knows damn well what the answer is.

“Yes. I promise I’ll pay you back when the case is over.”

“It’s not that big’a deal, I was gonna spend it on this anyway,” Harry grumbles, pressing his face into Dale’s hair and closing his eyes. “Coop, uh… be careful doing this, okay? Don’t get hurt or anything.”

“I’m closing in on the culprits, it’s not unreasonable to assume I’ll be home again in a matter of days,” Dale assures him. “Please believe me when I tell you that you shouldn’t have to pay for this.” He lightly kisses the spot where Harry’s collarbones meet. “And once I’m back in Twin Peaks you won’t have to, either.”

“Are you sure?” Harry blurts out. “It’s a small place, Coop, and somebody’s gonna notice sooner or later. We might both get run outta town for it.”

“Harry I’m terribly and hopelessly in love with you,” he says, like that should somehow fix everything.

But Harry’s so surprised to hear that from _anybody_ that the problems with this stop mattering for a second. He pulls Dale in closer and kisses the top of his head. “I love you, too.”

And they don’t talk about it anymore after that. Harry falls asleep for a few minutes by accident, but it’s not a big deal and Dale doesn’t have a problem with it. When he’s been here for almost two and a half hours in total, he finally resigns himself to getting dressed and leaving. He wants to take Dale home with him and eat dinner together, sleep side by side, wake up tomorrow and make love. But for real, with tenderness, in the privacy of his house and not surrounded by rooms full of other people getting serviced by hookers. This place feels so fake and dirty and thinking about it now Harry hates that the first time they’ve had sex is here, while Dale is supposed to be working on a drug bust.

“Here.” He stands there in his t-shirt and underwear, digging his wallet out of his pants and handing over a wad of twenties. “You don’t have to pay me back, Dale. And I’m gonna make this up to you when you get home, I promise.” When they’re both dressed again Harry steps into his space and hugs him. “Be safe, okay?”

“I’ll do my best.” Dale kisses the corner of his jaw.

They both go opposite directions down the hall, Harry to the bar and Dale to go get coffee while the room gets cleaned. He runs into Tadek again on the way there - honestly Tadek is most of the reason Harry’s been coming here such a long time, he’s good to his men and he knows almost all of his regulars on a first-name basis. Most places are way worse about shit like that.

“You going to say good things about the new hire, too?” he grins.

“Yeah,” Harry nods. “Yeah, he’s the best.”

**Author's Note:**

> All my Twin Peaks fics can be found [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works?utf8=%E2%9C%93&commit=Sort+and+Filter&work_search%5Bsort_column%5D=revised_at&include_work_search%5Brelationship_ids%5D%5B%5D=127943&work_search%5Bother_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bexcluded_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bcrossover%5D=&work_search%5Bcomplete%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_from%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_to%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_from%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_to%5D=&work_search%5Bquery%5D=&work_search%5Blanguage_id%5D=&user_id=Aaron_The_8th_Demon).
> 
> Comments welcomed, encouraged and highly appreciated like always :)


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